Insanium Convertunt
by invisibleshipper
Summary: "All of us did things we regret, Draco Malfoy, " she said quietly, thoughtfully, as she traced the outline of the thing's wing with her finger, "Or failed to do things that we wish we had. While it is true that our choices define who we are, we were children, and we were terrified." Druna post-war fic.
1. Prologue

**Hey guys! It's been over a year since I've posted anything (college, health, and life in general get in the way sometimes) but I'm getting my feet wet again. In my opinion, Druna is such an underrated ship, and there are so few good fics about them that I decided to give it a go. I'm going to aim to update once a week :)**

**This goes for the whole fic: I'm not JKR. I'm not trying to _be _JKR. All characters/canon events are hers. If you see something that you don't recognize - hey, I had an original thought!**

**Without further ado, I hope you enjoy _Insanium Convertunt. _**

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_Prologue_

_Late January 1998_

Almost half of the books in the library at Malfoy Manor were either cursed, written in another language, venomous, or too dark to be appealing. The remaining books all had worn covers and creased pages. Some of the wear was due to age, many of the books were centuries old, and showed age no matter how well they had been cared for. The majority of it though, he knew came from him.

Before his fourth year, he had never had much of a desire to read _anything_, let alone something that wasn't a requirement. His school readings more than filled any appetite he had from the printed word. After Snake Eyes had made himself at home here, however, that had changed. It was rare for anyone to come into the library at all, and even when someone did, they rarely stayed longer than a few minutes. As soon as he had discovered that fact, the library had become his refuge. His escape from the sickening things that now lived in his house.

It took less than a week of spending every spare minute in there for him to grow desperately bored. While solitude and boredom were infinitely preferable to Snake Eyes and Bellatrix, they were still irksome. There wasn't much to _do_ in a library other than read, he found. So he read. The first book he had picked up was a clearly well-read copy of E. Nesbit's _Fairy Tales_. Who had read it enough to leave finger marks in the leather binding, he might never know, but within months he had added his own. After his first time through _Fairy Tales_, he moved through the rest of the shelves with no real aim, only pulling down and hiding inside every book that looked even mildly interesting and appeared non-hazardous. Three years later, he must have read them all at least twice, and some upwards of half a dozen times. He learned to love the smell of ink on paper and the feel of worn leather. He learned how to escape into the volumes.

Today, he barely even bothered to inhale the soothing smell of the room as he made a beeline for the shelf where he knew his favorite sat. Over the years he had read Muggle fiction, advanced textbooks, books on Dark Arts, taught himself Occlumency, and practically memorized the history of Quidditch, yet still, he gravitated to the first book he had read when he took refuge in this place. The stories didn't have morals, or truths, or even happy endings half the time. They were just tales that sucked him in whole, allowing any other thought to slip away.

Today, he slumped down into a dark leather wing-backed chair. He waved his wand, igniting the fire in the grate, and let the pages of _Fairy Tales_ fall open wherever they pleased. He had read the book so many times that he didn't even need to begin a story at its start to follow the plot. He didn't care if he started in the middle of one today, he just needed that pull, that pleasant unawareness of the world that this particular book always brought with it. They were interrogating the girl again today. Maybe his avoidance proved everyone right - maybe he _was_ a coward, but he didn't care. He didn't care if his inability to listen to her voice meant he was a spineless, soft-hearted infant. He didn't want to hear it when they finally broke her.

In the month since she and Thomas had been deposited in the cellar, the LeStranges had been trying to get information from her almost daily. It had become a bit of a game to the three of them - Who Can Get the Mad Girl to Scream First? They would emerge from the cellar after each attempt, livid, yet slightly amazed. No matter their methods, she was yet to tell them a thing, and yet to scream.

If only the girl would _bloody scream_, as anyone else would, he wouldn't be hiding from her. He was, he had realized quickly, hiding from her. From her voice. Despite her imprisonment below the house, her voice echoed through the entire building. Always the same song. He didn't have any desire to know what they were doing to her, but the Lestranges enjoyed boasting of their methods to anyone they could corner, so he had a fair idea. And through all of that, enduring what must be agony, she sang. It was the only sign he ever received that she was even still alive. Why wouldn't the girl bloody _scream_?

He was weak, and he knew it. As the first notes of her song reached his ears, he launched himself into the story in front of him. He could have easily cast a silencing charm on the library, but Bellatrix would have known. As if she could smell it, she always knew about anything he did that could possibly be interpreted as weakness. She took some sick joy out of tormenting him for it, in telling the Dark Lord of _'young Draco's love of traitors'_ or some rot like that. As if he needed more reason to distrust the Malfoys. So he poured himself into his book as if he was trying to crawl inside it and erase the eerily peaceful sound coming from the cellar.

This time was different, though. After only a few minutes, the sound grew into something that was anything but peaceful. It was the same eerie, haunting melody she always sang, but it was growing shrill. It quickly became something piercing, devastating to listen to. He squeezed his eyes shut as he dropped the book to the floor with a thump. His hands came up, desperately rubbing his eyes, which were burning. His head was throbbing, and he couldn't block it out. The sound only grew louder, and she had to _stop_. She _had_ to stop.

She was still singing - through it all, she never stopped. But it came in bursts now, raw and shrill, and he could almost hear the jagged breaths she drew in between the horrible sounds. The Lestranges would be horribly smug at supper, because for the first time in a month, she was screaming. He had known her by sight at school, just well enough to be aware of her reputation - Loony, the others called her. She was apparently odd about everything, so he supposed it only made sense for her to be odd under torture as well. And she was. Because even as they broke her, finally reaching a level of pain that drug screams out of a throat that had remained calm for almost a month, she fought.

Because even screaming, she sang.

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**So what did y'all think? Like it? Hated it? Please let me know! The prologue was short, but once the rest of the story begins they will get longer. Happy readings!**

**Also, this fic is currently beta-less, so if you're a good beta and like this well enough to want to lend me a hand with the rest, send me a pm!**


	2. Chapter 1

**So my plan was to post this tomorrow or Saturday, but I'm currently procrastinating psychology homework, so enjoy!  
**

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_Chapter 1 ~ Draco_

_Eight Months Later - late September 1998_

I heard the classroom door bang, crashing back against the wall as I slung myself into a seat at the back of the room. My momentum almost slung me straight across the chair and into Lovegood's lap. Thankfully, I grabbed the edge of the desk, catching myself in time to prevent the awkward situation, and I swear, the girl didn't even look up. It wasn't as if my entrance was something easy to miss, either. I had come charging in just as Flitwick was calling roll, my clothes rumpled and flying in every direction, my hair falling in my face, only to dramatically throw myself into the only available chair, the one Lovegood had obviously saved for me. The bang of the classroom door, followed by the loud deposition of myself into my seat drew every eye in the room. Flitwick trailed off halfway through Terry Boot's name as the entire room stared at me, gaping. Everyone except the person the commotion was closest to, that is.

I can't decide if she is the most scattered person I've ever met, or the most collected. It really could be either, depending on your point of view. Or the day. Either way, today I would have given a million galleons for a bit of her calm. My entrance was decidedly un-Malfoy-ish, and I wasn't done disgracing myself yet. Rushing in disheveled and frantic - my mother would have tutted, my father would have sneered, my younger self would even have sneered. Hell, I would have sneered at myself yesterday. No wonder I was drawing so many eyes.

It was hardly the first time I had run through the halls to get to a class I was late for, but then again, I was the only one who knew that. Any other day I would have stopped at the door, straightened my clothes, caught my breath, and ensured a thoroughly bored expression was firmly in place before calmly strolling into the room, because Draco Malfoy didn't care if he was late. Draco Malfoy thought attendance was a courtesy to the professor, not a necessity, because he would pass the class anyway. Draco Malfoy was Slytherin's prince, after all. I wasn't feeling much like Draco Malfoy this morning.

Flitwick spared me one more mildly startled glance before calling Boot's name again and proceeding with roll. I bent down, rifling through my bag, noticing that he didn't bother to call _my_ name. I supposed it was unnecessary now. I quickly located my textbook, parchment, and _damn it _I'd left my quill in the library. That was the last straw, and though I hated myself for it, I dropped my head into my hand for just a moment. No one was looking. Everyone's attention was either directed at the minuscule professor, their text, or whoever they were currently in lust with. No one noticed that the ever-calm Draco Malfoy was having a meltdown, so I let myself have three brief seconds. Three seconds to scrub at my eyes, rub circles into my forehead, take two deep breaths, and pull myself the hell together.

I felt something nudge at the elbow supporting my head. Resisting the urge to lash out at the thing disrupting my mental breakdown, I peered through my fingers at whatever it was. I lifted my head. A long brown quill was insistently butting my arm. I threw a glance at Lovegood, but she was still engrossed in her textbook, which was as usual, upside down. How she managed to remain one of the top students in the school when that was the only way I ever saw her read was beyond me. Crazy witch.

I gave her a stiff nod before picking up the quill, which instantly stilled. Thank Merlin for that - it would have been bloody hard to write with the thing jerking itself around in my hand. She didn't even acknowledge me, the only indication that she even noticed was a small upturn of her lips. It was tiny, and lasted less than a second, almost making me wonder if I'd imagined it. But no, it was Lovegood. That was how she operated.

With an almost inaudible huff, I faced the front of the room where Flitwick was partway through an explanation of the Protean charm. I'd attempted the charm back in the summer before 6'th year when Theo and I were both convinced we wouldn't survive until September. I had enchanted two Bertie Bott's beans, so that one could at least inform the other if he was about to die - I'd thought that a stale piece of candy in the bottom of a sixteen-year-old boy's pocket was unlikely to be confiscated. I had been right, but something hadn't been quite right with the charm. It had been sporadic and unreliable, several times making me jump as I thought my mate was in danger, only to later find that the charm had activated itself while he was eating breakfast or sleeping. I was interested to see where I had gone wrong, so I channeled all my mental focus into listening to the high-pitched voice of my professor, pushing my other worries aside. There would be time for them later.

Despite my interest in the topic, the class period went by more slowly than a half-sleeping giant. As soon as it was over I was out of my seat and headed toward the door. I didn't even know where I was going - lunch was next, and then I had a free period, so I didn't exactly have anywhere to be. All I knew was that I needed to get out of there. Away from staring eyes, from the incessant hum of voices, from the violent crush of bodies. I wasn't able to deal with any of that right now. I had to process…_everything _alone before I could _begin _to be my normal self in public.

I was so close, almost to the door when I was stopped. "Draco Malfoy, wait a moment please."

Her voice washed over me, and I froze. She sounded as if she were half asleep. Bloody Luna Lovegood and her inability to stay out of my business. I could feel my shoulders tense as I slowly turned around and leveled her with a stare, silently daring her to ask, to question, to push.

She maneuvered her way around the desk and moved towards me, stopping a perfectly acceptable distance away. Her neck was craned as she tipped her head back to look into my eyes. I knew it. I knew I looked like hell warmed over. My shirt was untucked, and both it and my trousers were horribly wrinkled. My tie was only halfway tied, and I'd been repeatedly running my hands through my hair, so I knew it must look like a peacock's plumage standing out behind my head. Her mouth opened, and I knew she was going to ask. She was going to ask, and I was going to lose it, and

"Might I have my quill back?" I blinked at her mild question, staring at her for the second it took my brain to catch up to her words. I had completely forgotten her wordless loan.

"Right, of course," I dropped to my knee on the classroom floor, slinging my bookbag off my shoulder to riffle through it in search of the quill. We were directly in front of the door, so a swarm of students flowed around us as they left for lunch. I could _feel _their eyes on me without having to look up. I had come to class late. I had _run _into the classroom, giving the impression that I might actually care, and they had all noticed. I felt irritation building as I dug for the quill, trying to ignore the silent questions being launched in my direction by the teenagers who all seemed to press _just _a little too close as they stepped around me. _Book, book, parchment, book, chocolate, book, _I identified each item by touch, staring up at the ceiling, until _finally_. I smiled faintly, looking up at her as I held out her quill.

Which was snapped in half.

"Shite," I groaned, pushing at my hair. Why was it so attached to my face today? "I'm sorry Lovegood,"

Her head tilted slightly, causing her dirty blond curls to cascade down the side of her slightly unkempt uniform. Her face was eerily unreadable as she looked at me, then to the broken quill, then back to me. It was unnerving how she could spare a single glance with those ridiculously large eyes, and leave you with the impression that she had read the situation and now understood you perfectly. She shook her head ever so slightly, sending ripples through her hair.

"Oh Draco," She murmured, "You really must change your mindset. The wrackspurts are going to be the death of you if you don't." and she gently plucked the broken brown feather from my hand, stepped gracefully around me, and floated away down the hall.

That was another thing about Lovegood. She always seemed to _float_. I couldn't remember ever seeing her actually _walk _anywhere. It was as if walking were too uninteresting a mode of transportation for her to bother with. My only workable theory (ha!) was that her invisible little wrackspurts carried her.

She would tell me that's not what wrackspurts do.

I would roll my eyes, snidely pointing out that if she ever wanted to be taken seriously, she would eventually have to stop believing in fairy tales. Or at the very least, stop proclaiming that belief to all the world.

She would give me a crooked smile before pointing out that if I announced to Hermione's Granger's primary schoolmates that I could teach them to bottle fame, brew glory, or put a stopper in death, they would think _I _believed in fairy tales.

Lovegood talking to me about fairy tales would in no way trigger anything unpleasant in my memory.

I was beginning to realize that we had conversations like that a bit too often if I could predict them almost to the word. I also realized that I was still down on one knee in the Charms classroom, perched in front of my bookbag as if I was about to ask it for a lifelong commitment. Lovely, Draco. Just lovely. I hastily got to my feet, taking a moment to put myself to rights before sauntering out of the classroom. I did my best to appear as if I wasn't trying to appear like anything, a skill I had all but perfected over the past seven years.

I didn't pay attention to where I was walking, I just walked. I mechanically nodded to a few people, I smirked at a few more. I even managed a sneer at Longbottom when he passed me in front of the Great Hall, apparently engrossed in trying to fit an entire sandwich into his mouth in one go. My feet were on autopilot, taking me past newly rebuilt walls, and stones that had been scrubbed clean of blood. It made me sick to remember, to be inside that building, and before I fully processed my destination I was outside of the castle and at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The trees began to thicken, and the soothing silence that always reigned here descended on me. I didn't stop walking until the trees abruptly ended, opening into a wide clearing.

I finally allowed my steps to slow, the crunch of leaves under my feet quieting as I entered the clearing. As soon as I was inside the ring of trees, I quietly sank to the ground, my back pressed against one of them, my legs sprawled out in front of me. Though the night's frost had long since melted, its lingering cold seeped through my clothes, chilling me. The bark of the tree was so rough I could feel it against my back even through my robes. I sighed, closing my eyes as familiar snuffling sounds reached me from the other side of the clearing. I took a deep breath in and slowly released it. This was normal. This was peaceful.

On the other side of the clearing, half a dozen large black forms lazed in varying stages of waking and sleeping. The Thestrals didn't even react to my presence, and that in and of itself made me smile. They had accepted me as a part of life. A young one nipped at it's mother's flank, pestering her until she snapped at him, sending him skittering away to the other side of the clearing. Two other younglings lay wrapped around each other, sunlight shining off their leathery wings as they slept. An elderly one wobbled over to a tree and began slowly eating the bark, a loud _thwap _echoing every time her teeth pulled a strip free from the trunk. It was ironic that watching them felt so peaceful, considering the fact that I could see them at all.

I had found this clearing quite by accident at the beginning of term. The Wizengamot had found me innocent of the crimes I'd been charged with due to my youth and the threats against my mother. They had let me off with five years probation, and the stipulation that I return to Hogwarts repeat my seventh year. This wasn't uncommon with my classmates - even those who had been at the school last year hadn't had much time to learn anything. My parents hadn't been so lucky - Mother was under house arrest for the next two years, and father was in Azkaban. If a release date had been named, I hadn't heard it. As glad as I was to have an excuse to leave the Manor, I would almost have preferred to share in Mother's exile there. It was common knowledge that I _had _been a Death Eater, despite the Wizengamot's ruling, and I knew no one would forget it.

I don't know why I wasn't surprised when I saw the Thestrals pulling the carriages earlier this month. I had looked at Theo and Blaise, and they were staring at the ghostly things too - we could all see them. Either the mode of transportation had changed after all these years, or we had. I was inclined to believe the latter more likely. It had been nearly a week later when I had been wandering the edge of the woods early one morning and stumbled upon the clearing. Again, I wasn't exactly surprised to see a herd of devilish horses. I was, however, a bit surprised to see Lovegood _petting_ one. The witch had been attempting to befriend me since we had boarded the train, and everyone knew her penchant for strange creatures, so I drew closer. My first instinct was to leave before she noticed me, but if anyone could tell me something about the creatures that I couldn't find in any book, it would be Lovegood.

_"They're called Thestrals," she said without so much as looking over her shoulder. I've since realized that it is almost impossible to sneak up on her. Her dirty blonde hair was somehow tied in a series of knots that held it up off her neck, and her wand was stuck through the middle of the mess. Stupid of her. If I had a mind to attack her I could have her disarmed before she even got it out of the tangle it was lodged in. Then again, she had heard me coming, so maybe she was more self aware than she seemed._

_"Thestrals." I shoved my hands deep in my pockets, leaning back against a tree. That was all. One word, the question more implied than spoken._

_She chuckled lightly as the ghostly creature in front of her reached forward and nipped at her collar bone. "They've always been here, Draco Malfoy," her amusement at the…_Thestral _still evident in her voice. Well then, she knew my voice well enough to recognize me by it. "You just couldn't see them before." the amusement was gone now. Her voice sounded almost…sad. It was the most emotion I'd yet witnessed from her._

_I cocked my head to the side, brushing my hair back when it blocked my vision. "And why is that, Lovegood?" I could hear the skepticism in my voice, but honestly. She'd just told me these things had been invisible for the past seven years? Then again, hadn't the half-giant been babbling about some invisible thing a few years back?_

_Lovegood dropped to her knees, welcoming a baby demon horse as it wobbled over to her on shaky legs before crashing face-first into her lap. She cooed at it for a second, lifting it head and apparently staring into its eyes as she replied "Thestrals can only be seen by those who have first seen death." She said it matter-of-factly, not like it pained her, or even warranted much thought. She might as well have told me that dragons breathe fire for all the difficulty it seemed to cause her._

_For a few moments, the only sounds were the quiet huffs of the Thestrals as they went peacefully about their morning. _Those who had seen death. _No wonder they looked so horribly ominous. For a moment I was in the Astronomy Tower, watching the ripple of Dumbledore's robes as he fell, lifeless, to the ground so far below. Then the crackle of flames reached my ears and the smell of smoke made my nose curl. Crabbe. Fiendfyre. The sick _thwack _of Nagini's impact against Professor Burbage's skin. The blood, the smell of it…_

_I hadn't ridden in the carriages at the beginning of the year last term, instead flooing directly into Severus' office. Being godson to the headmaster came with certain privileges. It also meant that I hadn't seen the Thestrals last year, even though I had seen death._

_I ripped myself out of my head, refusing to relive those nightmares awake as well as asleep. I focused instead on the small girl in front of me, as if she wasn't one of my nightmares herself. No doubt, some of the death she had witnessed had been in my own home. House. The Manor had ceased to be my home the instant Snake Eyes had stepped foot in it. But still, it had been under the same roof I slept under._

_"Why?" my voice was tired, and it felt like I'd asked her that a hundred times since September first. I knew she would know what I was asking - why did she talk to me? Why was she civil, let alone the odd friendliness that seemed to emanate from her? She had been held prisoner in my home - I _knew _she had been tortured. And I had never once made any attempt to help, not even to slip them extra food, or a blanket through the door._

_I expected her to do what she always did when I asked - smile and change the subject, or say something freakish and cryptic and completely indecipherable. But this time she spun in place on the ground, crossing her legs and hauling the baby Thestral into her lap as she turned to face me. She was in the exact center of the clearing. The Thestrals behind her looked like sentries as she stared at me. The smudge of dirt on her cheek somehow managed to make her eyes appear even larger as she peered up at me where I still stood with my shoulder against the tree._

_"All of us did things we regret, Draco Malfoy," she said quietly, thoughtfully, as she traced the outline of the thing's wing with a fingertip, "Or failed to do things that we wish we had. While it _is _true that we are defined by our choices in life, we were children, and we were terrified."_

_I bristled, but she went on before I could retort._

_"I don't believe that doing the things you were raised to see as right makes you a bad person. Especially when you acted against them in the end. I believe that is a kind of courage and strength that few people possess, and even fewer recognize. So I talk to you." She shrugged like it was the most logical thing in the world._

_Of course it was some bloody idealistic Gryffindor-type shite. No, actually no Gryffindor would see past the things I did. They all had their head permanently lodged too far up their asses to think anything of the sort. Strength? Sure. The girl was bloody mad. I huffed, turned on my heel, and walked briskly back towards the castle, away from her and her ideals. I was going to research Thestrals. For all I knew, she'd made the bizarre story up. What kind of creature was invisible until you had watched somebody die?_

_And why was she so bloody insistent on talking to me?_

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**What did y'all think of chapter one? Please let me know, I have had a lot of views, even a few follows/favorites (thank you for those!) but I'm yet to get any feedback. I'd really love to hear y'all's thoughts. Also, I'm still beta-less, so I apologize for any mistakes.**

**And yes, before you ask, background for their friendship WILL be given. You'll just have to stick around to hear it :)**


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